


Blink

by whyyesitscar



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a dark night in South Dakota, Myka Bering stumbles upon a very interesting statue. [It's exactly what you think it is.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime in an AU Warehouse 13 S4, assumes that Doctor Who existed as a show without any episodes involving the weeping angels. You'll see as you read; hopefully it's not too full of plot holes. Based off of [this](http://thewarehousewasmyhome.tumblr.com/post/56793028720/the-gang-visit-derelict-house-instead-they-find-a) amazing photoset. Took a lot of quotes from the episode and revised some of them, but I promise there's original stuff in there, too. Enjoy!

It started with something stupid.

A lot of artifacts start that way, but not a lot of them involve the Warehouse as deeply as this one did. Pete, Helena, and Claudia had a pet obsession—a series of video clips that Claudia had combined into one long one involving a scrawny man talking to himself. Myka teased them mercilessly for it, but she really didn’t mind it as much as she let them think. It was always funny to watch them argue over what they meant. (Helena’s theories were always soundest, though none of them went far enough into making sense that Myka would weigh in.)

They played it almost every night before bed, and most nights Myka didn’t mind. It was cute to see them huddled on Pete’s bed, watching with a paper and pen (Helena), or a laptop (Claudia), or a plate of cookies (Pete). But tonight Myka wanted a break. From the video, from the Warehouse, from anything that wasn’t a dark back road in the middle of the South Dakota Badlands.

So she slipped out of the B&B once they hit play, telling Leena she’d be back after a walk. The night air was cool but not frigid, perfect for a night of wandering with her hands in her coat pockets. Myka got like this sometimes, restless at night with a heart telling her to run and a head telling her to stay. She wasn’t going to leave for good again; she couldn’t do that to her family. She loved everyone too much, even quirky William, who was considerably more old-fashioned than Helena but undoubtedly just as entertaining, perhaps for that very reason.

But, as the debacle with Sykes had shown her, life is far too ephemeral. Even the things that seem the sturdiest, most permanent of fixtures can change on a dime. Your happiest place can almost blow up. Your favorite person can almost disintegrate. Nothing stays forever and your past will catch up with you.

When Myka feels like that, she goes for a walk.

South Dakota at night is quiet and still, the kind of calm that reminds Myka of home. She relishes the familiar silence, passing through Univille and another highway town before losing herself in rural darkness. The only thing she hears is the crunch of her shoes on unevenly packed dirt.

Until there is a scuffle behind her. Myka turns sharply, facing the noise with her Tesla first because that has become more of a second hand than a weapon.

“Secret Service, who’s there?” she yells. No one answers.

There’s a noise behind her again; Myka rotates once more, and, once more, finds nothing. No rocks getting blown by the wind, or branches falling off of trees, or shadowy figures lurking in the darkness. There is only an old house in the middle of nowhere. Myka has seen a lot of horror movies (because Pete made her watch) and she knows that walking right into an abandoned house in the dead of night is a very bad idea.

But Myka is also a Secret Service agent at heart, and it is her job to make the best of very bad ideas, so she rolls her eyes, turns on the flashlight she carries at all times, and starts toward the house.

The porch creaks under her steps. The stairs creak and the floors creak and the roof creaks, and still Myka keeps going. She isn’t the one to get vibes, but she has a feeling that this house isn’t finished with her yet. But search as she might, she can’t find anyone else inside.

She stalls for a moment in a room at the top of the stairs, peering at the faded wallpaper wilting away. Myka almost turns to leave when she notices a letter written on the wall. She pulls at the paper until the whole message is revealed.

_Beware the weeping angel._

Myka frowns, still holding the wallpaper in her fist. “What?” She pulls a little further.

_Oh, and duck!_

(Further.)

_Really, duck!_

(Further still.)

_Myka Bering, duck right now!_

Myka feels a sense of urgency she only feels when Pete starts vibing like crazy.

She ducks.

At exactly head-level, a pot crashes through the window, hits the wall, and breaks on the floor. Myka stands and aims her flashlight in the direction of the throw, but she finds nothing except for a marble statue. An angel covers its face with its hands and the wind blows through the new hole in the glass.

Myka takes a deep breath and turns back toward the wall. She peels away at the wallpaper one more time, just in case. Some have called her too thorough, but a lot of mysteries are solved because of ‘just in case’. She knows what happens when you don’t take the proper precautions, and she has learned.

It is with a triumphant smirk and a furrowed brow that she reads the last message.

_Love from The Doctor, 1969._

/

Myka enters the B&B again with a push from the wind, shivering as the night seems to have finally taken on a chill. The first floor is quiet, but as Myka walks upstairs, she can hear the faint buzz of the man whose words she knows so well. This video is an excellent example of why sometimes it’s frustrating to have Myka’s memory.

_“Yet. They're coming. They're coming for you, but listen, your life could depend on this. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink. Good luck.”_

Myka stops in the doorway to Pete’s room. “So what is this, anyway?”

Claudia pauses the video and turns her head, eyes wild and excited. “You finally wanna know?”

Myka fights a smile. “Give me the basics and I’ll tell you.”

Claudia grins, takes a deep breath, and straightens her face into somewhat of a serious expression. “Okay, well, we think it’s at least part of a lost episode of _Doctor Who_ —”

Myka pushes away from the wall and crosses her arms. “ _Doctor Who_? So, is that The Doctor then?”

Claudia nods. “Yeah, well, technically he’s the Tenth Doctor, but—”

“Okay, um, actually, why don’t you finish telling me about this tomorrow,” Myka stutters, “because I need to—you know what, I’m gonna grab William in the morning and you can fill me in then because there’s something I need to do.”

“Hey, you okay, Mykes?” Pete asks.

“Yep,” Myka nods. “Totally fine. I’m just gonna go to bed, and we can finish this conversation tomorrow.” They all stare at her as she leaves, so Myka leaves faster.

She’s seen a lot of weird stuff after four years with the Warehouse, but Myka has yet to communicate with a character from a TV show.

Maybe if she just sleeps it off, it won’t seem so silly in the morning.

/

It’s still silly.

Myka avoids everyone but William in the morning, grabbing him as soon he’s ready and before he runs into anyone else. Myka needs a level head if she’s going to find the house again. Steve is just as level-headed as William, but Steve is too close to Claudia and Myka doesn’t want anyone asking questions until she has a pretty good idea of what she’s dealing with. So Myka grabs William, the only Brit in the house who’s quiet and unassuming.

(Technically his full name is William Wolcott, but William has a lot of names—Wolly to Helena and Claudia because Helena’s an old friend and Claudia’s brain works too quickly for full names; Willy to Pete because Pete is twelve; and William to Myka, Steve, and Artie because they actually listened when he said that’s what he wanted to be called.

He’s amusing even though he doesn’t intend to be, mostly because he’s highly flappable. Helena takes advantage of that far too often. He bumbles around so much that sometimes Myka takes him for granted as an actual Warehouse agent, but he has an unnerving knack for procuring artifacts, and he does it so sneakily that often Myka doesn’t notice until he’s standing next to her with a static bag.

He was bronzed along with Helena and it isn’t hard to see why—Myka has rarely seen someone so devoted to their partner since, well, since she finally accepted how much she appreciates and needs Pete. MacPherson debronzed them both but he left William to fend for himself, and he didn’t show up again until after everything with Sykes. He hasn’t shared what he did during those years or how he found them again, and Myka hasn’t asked.

People have things they don’t like talking about. She gets it.)

“So, you saw a message on a wall in an abandoned house that you think was written by a fictional character from a television show,” William asks in the car.

“Yes."

“And you believe it was written approximately forty three years ago.”

“Yes.”

“Which was thirty six years before this particular incarnation of The Doctor ever existed.”

“I know it sounds crazy.”

“Well, I can see why you wouldn’t want to take Pete.”

“God, he’d never stop teasing me.” Myka parks the car in front of the house. It’s less eerie in the daytime, but somehow seems more dilapidated.

“What brought you here in the first place?” William asks as they go inside.

“I love old things,” Myka answers. “They make me feel sad.”

“Where is the good in being sad?” Myka can hear the frown in his voice.

“It’s happy for deep people,” she mutters as they find the room with the writing. It’s still there, every message written just the way she found them the night before. William takes a walk around the room, glancing at corners and walls and the ceiling.

He leans out the window, looking at the backyard. “I suppose this is the Weeping Angel.”

Myka follows his gaze, furrowing her brows. “It’s moved.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s moved,” she repeats, pointing. “It’s closer to the house than it was yesterday.”

“Are you sure?”

Myka throws William a look. “Come on. Do you really think I’d forget where something was?”

“Right, no, of course.”

Myka turns her attention away from the angel and back to the writing on the wall. “How can my name be written here? How is that possible? No one knew I was coming here; hell, _I_ barely knew I was coming here.”

William opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

Myka’s eyes widen to an almost impossible shape. “Seriously? Were we followed?”

“I don’t believe so—”

“I’m gonna go check it out.” Myka pulls out her Tesla, checking to make sure it’s charged. (It always is. She still always checks.)

“Right, I’ll stay here then.”

Myka nods and walks down the stairs as noiselessly as she can. She looks through the peephole on the door first, just in case the caller is armed. She only finds a man in a suit, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits.

“Can I help you?” she asks as she opens the door.

“I’m looking for Myka Bering,” the man says. He’s British, too. Myka knows only two British people, but both of them have brought a considerable amount of trouble into her life. Her hopes aren’t high for this one, either.

He is a plain man—brown hair, brown eyes, nothing distinguishable about him except for the very important fact that Myka has never seen him before and yet he inexplicably knows her name.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” She tightens her grip on her Tesla.

“I was told to bring this letter on this date at this exact time to Myka Bering.” He hands her a thick bundle of paper.

“Looks old,” she says, examining it.

“It is old.” He fiddles with his sleeves as she lets him in the house. “Look, do you have anything with a photograph on it, like a driver’s license?” She rolls her eyes and flips open her Secret Service badge instead. “Right. I'm sorry, I feel really stupid, but I was told to make absolutely sure. It's so hard to tell with these little photographs, isn't it?”

“Apparently,” Myka deadpans. “How did you know I was coming here? I didn’t tell anyone except William.”

“It's all a bit complicated. I'm not sure I understand it myself.” She just waits. “Well, here goes, I suppose. Funny feeling, after all these years.”

Myka has no time for sentimentality. “Who’s it from?”

“Well, that’s a long story, actually.”

“Give me a name.”

“William Wolcott.”

“William Wolcott? As in William, Willy, Wolly, sometimes Bill if Pete’s been whammied, Wolcott?”

“Yes,” the man nods. “William Edward Wolcott.”

“Is this a joke?”

“A joke? No—”

Myka turns in the direction of the stairs. “William, if this is your weird British humor, it’s not funny,” she yells. But her words are only met with silence. “William?”

Myka bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time like Pete does when he wants to watch cartoons. She keeps calling William’s name, hoping he’ll answer at least once. He doesn’t. He doesn’t answer because when Myka gets to the room with the writing, William isn’t there anymore.

This time, when Myka meets the stranger, she meets him with her Tesla raised.

“Who are you?” she demands.

“I made a promise,” the man says instead.

“To whom?”

“My grandfather. William Edward Wolcott.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes. He died twenty years ago.”

“What?”

“Please look at the letter.”

Myka assesses him once more before she lowers her Tesla and unfolds the papers. She finds old photographs at the center of man who looks extraordinarily like William.

“So, they’re related?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your grandfather, my William. They’re practically identical.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “I think you should just read the letter.”

Myka opens the letter. She’s pretty sure Pete would be getting a crazy bad vibe if he were here.

_Myka—_

_I hope this finds you in time. If you’re reading this, if my grandson has done as he promised, then it has been mere minutes since we’ve spoken—for you, I mean. For me it has been over sixty years. I realize that sounds absurd, but we work in an environment where absurdity is commonplace. I have included some photographs in with this letter. They are photographs of my family. Please, Myka, if you are to solve this mystery, you must believe that I am telling the truth._

Myka looks up from reading. “This is sick. This is totally sick.” She turns to run upstairs again, convinced that William will jump out from hiding. “William! You got me good, okay, but it’s not funny anymore!”

As soon as she gets to the top of the stairs, Myka stops. The angel from the backyard is in the house, only it isn’t alone and it’s holding a key. Myka feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“William…” she calls nervously, walking slowly toward the angel. “Look, I’m not even mad; I’m actually kind of impressed that you managed to get three statues in here so quickly, but just come out and tell me how you did it and then we can get the hell out of here.”

Silence.

She crouches to study the angel with the key. It looks just like any other marble statue Myka has seen. There isn’t anything inherently creepy about it, and yet Myka is severely creeped out. She waits just a little longer, then grabs the key and runs.

The man is gone when she gets downstairs, and so is his car. Myka follows his lead and high-tails it away from the house, only stopping to read the rest of the letter once she stops seeing the house’s silhouette in her rearview mirror.

_I can only assume that some kind of artifact is in play, and believe me when I say that I have spent years trying to locate and reverse its effects. But the fact that this letter exists means that I was unsuccessful. It’s alright; I went back in time to 1920. I suppose there are two of me now—for Helena and I are surely still encased in bronze—but I have no desire to seek out the Warehouse again. It feels right to live the years I’ve missed._

_I suppose, unless I live to an extraordinarily old age, I will have passed by the time you read this. It’s alright, I promise. I’ve lived a good life. I met a wonderful woman named Annie. She was the first person I met in 1920 and she would not stop following me. In truth, she reminds me a bit of Helena. You would have liked her._

_I know you will inform the rest of the Warehouse agents of my disappearance and the existence of an artifact, but please make sure Helena knows how much I appreciated her friendship. We have been through so much together, she and I. It seems almost wrong to experience the twentieth century without her; she would have loved it._

_The third photograph you have is a picture of my children. The youngest is called Helena. Please let her know._

_All my love,_

_William_

/

“This isn’t possible.”

“Helena—”

“Myka, physical time travel is impossible. No one knows this better than I.”

“I know, Helena, but—”

“Okay, can we just chill for a second before H.G. combusts?” Pete steps in between Helena and Myka. “Let’s just look at the facts: Myka and Willy—”

“Wolly,” Helena corrects at the same time that Myka says “William.”

“Right, because _that_ never gets old,” Pete scoffs. Myka and Helena glare at him. “Okay, okay. Myka and Willy went to this creepy house, found a creepy message and some creepier statues, Myka got a letter allegedly from Willy-from-the-past who’s really Willy-from-the-future-in-the-past-again, and now Myka’s here.”

“That’s about it,” Myka confirms.

“Yes, but that’s _impossible_ ,” Helena repeats.

Pete and Claudia start to speak but Myka holds up a hand, cutting them off. “Helena,” she says softly. “I promise it’s true.” She digs the photographs out of her pockets and hands them over. “That one, with the little girl,” she points. “That’s his daughter. He named her Helena.”

Helena stares at the picture for a very long time. “He what?” she breathes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Myka says.

 _“Yeah, yeah. People don’t understand time. It’s not what you think it is_ ,” The Doctor says from Pete’s TV.

“Pete, do you ever turn that thing off?” Myka grumbles. “Jeez.”

“Sorry; I’m sorry, Mykes.” He scrambles to find the remote. “The pause button on this thing is messed up.”

“So fix it.” Myka turns to Claudia. “The message I found on the wall, it was signed ‘The Doctor, 1969.’”

Claudia’s eyes widen to the size of grapefruits. “No, shit!”

“Yeah,” Myka nods. “So you can see why I was kind of wigged last night.”

“Dude,” Claudia says, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, so The Doctor is real?”

Myka shrugs. “I don’t know. You tell me.” She points her head toward the video. “What’s this thing all about?”

“It’s an Easter Egg,” Claudia explains. “Or, well, 17 Easter Eggs but I put them in one big file. You know how on DVDs they put extras on, documentaries and stuff? Well, sometimes they put on hidden ones, and they call them Easter eggs. You have to go looking for them. Follow a bunch of clues on the menu screen.”

_“Complicated.”_

“Pete!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Anyway…” Claudia drawls. “It's interesting, actually. He is on seventeen different DVDs. There are seventeen totally unrelated DVDs, all with him on. Always hidden away, always a secret. Not even the publishers know how he got there. I've talked to the manufacturers, right? They don't even know. He's like he's a ghost DVD extra. Just shows up where he's not supposed to be. But only on those. Those seventeen.”

“Well, what does he do?”

Claudia shrugs. “Just sits there, making random remarks. It's like we're hearing half a conversation. Pete and I and a bunch of other people are trying to figure out the other half.”

Myka smiles. “When you say ‘a bunch of other people’, you mean the Internet, don’t you?”

Claudia scowls. “Maybe.”

_“Very complicated.”_

“I know; I know,” Pete yells before Myka even looks at him. “I’m not the techie, okay; have Little Miss Doctor take a look at it.”

“Can’t hear you,” Claudia sing-songs. “I’m too busy searching police records for any other similar disappearances.”

“I can fix it, Pete,” Helena offers quietly. Everyone watches her as Pete hands over the remote. Myka watches her longer.

_“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.”_

Myka scoffs. “Started well, that sentence.”

“ _It got away from me, yeah.”_

Myka flits her gaze between Pete, Claudia, and Helena, all of whom are staring intermittently at her and The Doctor. “Okay, that was weird. Like he can hear me.”

 _“Well, I can hear you,”_ The Doctor answers.

Myka lunges forward and grabs the remote from Helena, pressing the stop button. “Pete!” she hisses.

“I don’t know!” he whisper-yells back. “He’s never done that before!”

Myka looks at him in disbelief. “What, you’ve never talked to the video before?”

“Well, yeah, sure I have,” Pete admits sheepishly. “But only once we knew all of what he was saying. It never made sense that quickly before.”

Myka presses her lips together and scratches the back of her neck. “Okay, I’ve had a weird morning; I can’t handle any more of this. Claudia…?”

“Yep, a bunch of disappearances over the years,” Claudia replies, answering her unasked question. “Local police are in charge of it, specifically a sheriff named Sam Martino. I sent you a list of names plus the video file.”

“Thanks, Claud. You guys stay here, see what you can dig up on all of this. Pete—”

Pete jumps up and claps his hands. “Yep.”

“You stay out of trouble more when I can see you. Come on.”

/

They’ve been living in Univille for four years and Myka has never been to the police station. It isn’t much of a station—mostly it’s just another store front with a couple of desks and a puny holding cell.

There’s movement at the periphery of Myka’s vision as they walk inside. She spots two angels, but when does a double-take, they’ve disappeared.

“Pete…”

“Yeah?”

“Sheriff Sam Martino, what can I do for you?”

The man standing in front of them is tall and thin; he barely looks at Pete before smiling in a way that Myka would find a little skeevy if she also didn’t find him so attractive.

“We’re, uh, we were wondering about a few disappearances—” she stutters.

“Hang on, you two are from the IRS Warehouse, right?” Sam interrupts.

“Yeah, we’re looking for a few people who might have skipped out on their taxes.” Pete gives him a few of the names.

“You’re a little behind there,” Sam says. “Some of those people disappeared a few years ago.”

“We like to be thorough,” Myka says.

“I bet you do,” Sam replies, smirking. Myka can’t help but blush.

“Yeah, _real_ thorough, pal,” Pete adds. Myka narrows her eyes at him; she doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly gotten so hostile.

“Okay, well, these people all disappeared from the same house. We’d get a call every so often about an abandoned car sitting right in front, sometimes for days.”

“People just left their cars?” Myka asks.

Sam nods. “Looks like it. We’ve gotten reports over the last few years—some of the cars were still running when we got there. All their personal items still inside, but the owners were nowhere to be found. We’ve got all the cars stored in a lot a couple miles outside of town, if you want to take a look.”

“Please.”

Sam smiles and winks. “You wanna ride with me?”

“She does not,” Pete answers for her, grabbing her by her shoulders and frog-marching her back to the car.

“Pete, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“You’re flirting with that guy! You can’t flirt with him!”

“Uh, I am _not_ flirting with him, but I so could if I wanted to!”

“Uh, no you can’t.” He presses down harder on the gas and gets a little too close to Sam’s bumper. Myka rolls her eyes.

“If you hadn’t noticed, Pete, I am pretty single and I have been since we joined the Warehouse. I can flirt if I want to.”

“Well, yeah, I know, but—no, you can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because—you know, you and—with the thing!” He flails his hands in a frenzied gesture. Myka waits for him to explain further, but he doesn’t say anything.

“If you’re done flipping out, can we please get back to the case? If there was an artifact in town, wouldn’t we have heard the alarm?”

“Well, not if it’s in one of these cars. Technically this lot isn’t in Univille.”

Myka shakes her head. “Yeah, but that house is, and that house felt really creepy.”

Pete parks the car. “Okay, well, let’s see if anything pings on the Pete-o-Meter while we’re here.”

The lot is nothing more than an arbitrary square set off by a chain-link fence. Sam is waiting with his hands on his hips, squinting at the sun in the manliest of ways. Myka makes a point not to look at Pete, maybe ever again.

She points to a blue box in front of all the cars. “What’s that?” she calls as they walk toward Sam.

“Ah, the pride of my collection,” Sam calls back. “We found it at the house, too. Someone’s idea of a joke, I guess.”

“Why, what is it?”

“We found some nerdy guys huddled around it when we went to pick up another car. Apparently it’s the time machine from some British show.”

Myka’s heart hammers in her chest and she and Pete share a look. “ _Doctor Who_ , you mean?”

Sam snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. I guess someone built a replica or something. We’ve tried getting inside, but no luck. It’s an ordinary lock, it’s just nothing fits.” He stops in front of the box and leans against it. “But that’s not the big question. See, you’re missing the big question.”

“What’s the big question?” Myka smiles in spite of herself.

“Will you have a drink with me?”

(Myka can feel Pete roll his eyes.)

“I’m sorry?”

“Drink, you, me, 7:00?”

“Uh…” Myka stammers. She shakes her head quickly. “Um, aren’t you on duty?”

“I won’t be at 7:00,” Sam smiles.

“Yeah, well—”

“Come on, life is short and you’re hot. Drink?”

“Moving a little fast there, Sheriff Martino.”

“Sam,” he corrects.

Myka ignores the blush in her cheeks and Pete’s judgmental stare as she writes her name and number on a slip of paper.

“Is that your number?”

“Just a number. Not a promise, not an IOU. Just my number.”

Sam reads the paper. “And that’s Meeka?”

“Myka.”

“Myka?”

“Myka. Myka Martino.” Her eyes bug out. Next to her, Pete groans. “Bering! Myka Bering!” She looks at her feet, at her hands, at the ground—at anything that isn’t stupid Sheriff Sam. “I should—I’ll just—we’re going now. Don’t look at me.” She grabs Pete’s arm and drags him back to the car.

“I’ll call you,” Sam says as they look away.

“Don’t look at me,” she repeats.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Might even call you tonight.”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Definitely gonna call you!” Sam yells.

“Yeah, you definitely better _not_!” Pete yells back.

Myka leans her head against the car. “Oh my god, can we please leave now?” When Pete doesn’t answer, she raises her head. “Pete?”

“Okay, I was having a thought,” Pete says. “You know how you said that angel had a key?”

“Yeah.” Myka pulls it from her pocket.

“And Sheriff Douchebag said that time machine replica won’t open…” He looks at her meaningfully.

Myka shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

They turn to go back to Sam and the blue box, only there isn’t a blue box or a Sam to be seen.

“Okay, I know this job is weird, but that really just happened, right?”

“Yeah, that really just happened.”

“Man, where did they _go_? That must be some huge whammy if it can make people vanish that quickly—”

“Just get in the car, Pete. We should get back to the Warehouse.”

“Why?”

“It smells like a fudge factory over here. Let’s go.”

“Mykes—”

“ _Not_ that kind of fudge factory, Pete. Jeez.”

/

_It takes Sam a moment to breathe again. It’s jarring, to suddenly feel air after being sucked into a total void for what seemed like years._

_“Welcome,” a voice says next to him._

_Sam opens his eyes. “Where am I?”_

_“1969,” the man answers. “Not bad, as it goes. You’ve got the moon landing to look forward to.”_

_“Oh, the moon landing’s brilliant,” a woman says. “We went four times, when we had transportation.” She glares accusatorily at the man._

_“Working on it,” he says out of the side of his mouth. “Sorry, I’m The Doctor, and this is Martha.” Martha waves._

_“How did I get here?”_

_“The same way we did,” The Doctor answers, “the touch of an angel. Same one, probably, since you ended up in the same year.” Sam braces his hand against the wall and goes to stand up. Maybe if he stands up, he’ll wake up from whatever weird dream he’s been dropped in.  “No, no. No, no, no, don't get up,” The Doctor urges. “Time travel without a capsule. Nasty. Catch your breath. Don't go swimming for half an hour.”_

_“I don't—I can’t—”_

_“Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels. The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely. No mess, no fuss, they just zap you into the past and let you live to death. The rest of your life used up and blown away in the blink of an eye. You die in the past, and in the present they consume the energy of all the days you might have had. All your stolen moments. They're creatures of the abstract. They live off potential energy.”_

_“What in God's name are you talking about?”_

_“Trust me. Just nod when he stops for breath,” Martha adds._

_“Tracked you down with this,” The Doctor says, holding up some weird-looking gadget. “This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff. Also, it can boil an egg at thirty paces—whether you want it to or not, actually, so I've learned to stay away from hens. It's not pretty when they blow.”_

_“I don't understand. Where am I?”_

_“1969, like he says,” Martha answers._

_“Normally, I'd offer you a lift home, but somebody nicked my motor. So I need you to take a message to Myka Bering. And I'm sorry, Sam. I am very, very sorry. It's going to take you a while.” He turns to face Martha. “Do you have it?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Well, come on. Give it.” He flutters his fingers impatiently. Martha rolls her eyes and hands over a thick marker._

_“What’s that?” Sam asks._

_The Doctor regards him silently while he stuffs the marker in his pocket. “No, no, I can’t tell you that. I mean, I can tell you some things—I_ have _to tell you some things—but that isn’t one of the things I can tell you."_

_“Okay.”_

_The Doctor sniffs and stands up, extending a hand so he can pull Sam up as well._

_“You hungry?”_

/

Myka’s phone rings when they’re almost back at the Warehouse. It’s an unlisted number. Normally, Myka wouldn’t answer, but this has not been a normal day.

“Myka Bering,” she says with as much authority as she can.

“Myka, so good to hear your voice.”

Myka frowns. “Who is this?”

“Sam Martino,” the voice answers. It doesn’t sound anything like Sam.

“Sam?” Myka parrots. “Where are you?”

“The hospital,” he answers. “Please come quickly.”

“What? Sam—”

“Please, Myka.”

He hangs up and Myka rolls her head toward Pete. “We have to go to the hospital,” she sighs.

“What, now? Why?”

“Because Sam’s there and he said we had to.”

Pete grumbles and drums his fingers against the wheel, but he turns the car around anyway. “It’s almost lunch time, man. This better be quick.”

“I have a wad of singles; go nuts on the vending machine.”

“How long have you kept a wad of singles on you?”

“How long have we been partners?”

“That’s actually kind of sweet, Mykes.”

“Just shut up and drive.”

/

The hospital smells like old people and sterile air when they walk in. Myka has never liked hospitals.

Sam’s room is up on the third floor; Myka leaves Pete in the lobby near the elevators while she goes to talk. There are things that shouldn’t be seen by other people, and Pete stuffing six candy bars in his mouth is one of them.

Myka stops in front of Sam’s room, examining the old man in the bed before she has to talk to him. It looks like Sam might, if he were really, really old, but it can’t be him. It’s just not possible.

Still, this day has been full of impossible things, so she takes a breath and opens the door.

“Sam?”

The old man turns his head away from the window. “It was raining when we first met.”

“It’s the same rain,” Myka whispers. She walks over to the bed and smiles at him even though she wants to run in the opposite direction. Ever since the case with Man Ray’s camera, Myka has been terrified of dying in a hospital. She knows what Sam feels like right now; she’s _been_ Sam. It’s not fun.

Myka picks up the framed picture on the nightstand. It’s a picture of Sam and his wife on their wedding day. He looks exactly like he did twenty minutes ago, only if he had a haircut from the 70s. “She looks nice.”

Sam smiles. “Her name was not Myka.”

Myka smiles back. “It’s not a very common name.”

“There is only one Myka Martino.”

“There never _was_ a Myka Martino,” she laughs.

“There almost was.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I often thought about looking for you before tonight, but apparently it would've torn a hole in the fabric of space and time, and destroyed two thirds of the universe. Also, I'd lost my hair.”

Myka shakes her head. “Two thirds of the universe. Where'd you get that from?”

“There's a man in 1969. He sent me with a message for you.”

“What man?”

“The Doctor. “

Myka keeps her voice steady, even though her heart is pounding. “And what was the message?”

“Just this: ‘look at the list.’”

“What does that mean? Is that it? Look at the list?”

“He said you'd have it by now. A list of seventeen DVDs.” Sam smiles mischievously. “I didn't stay a policeman back then. Got into publishing, then video publishing. Then DVDs, of course.”

Myka matches his grin. “You put the Easter Egg on.”

“Have you noticed what all seventeen DVDs have in common yet? I suppose it's hard for you, in a way.”

“How could the Doctor have even known I had a list? I only just got this.”

Sam rolls his head, a modified shrug when his shoulders won’t move right. “I asked him how, but he said he couldn't tell me. He said you'd understand it one day, but that I never would.”

“Soon as I understand it, I'll come and tell you.” She grasps his hand.

“No, slim, you can't. There's only tonight. He told me all those years ago that we'll only meet again this one time. On the night I die.”

“Sam…”

“It's kept me going. I'm an old, sick man, but I've had something to look forward to. Ah, life is long, and you are hot. Oh, look at my hands. They're old man's hands. How did that happen?”

“I'll stay,” Myka promises, fighting against the tears. “I'm going to stay with you, okay?”

“Thank you, Myka Bering. I have ‘til the rain stops.”

It eventually stops. Myka tries not to notice.

/

Myka waits outside while they wheel Sam out of the room. She doesn’t look as his body passes her; she’s only just gotten the tears under control. Instead, she texts Pete and tells him to meet her outside.

“Where’s Sam?” he says when she walks through the sliding doors. Myka just shakes her head. “Mykes, are you okay?”

“You have the Farnsworth, right?” He nods. “Call Helena.”

“Mykes—”

“I promise we’ll talk later, Pete.”

“Okay.” He flips open the Farnsworth and punches in Helena’s frequency. She answers a moment later.

“Have you found the artifact?” Helena asks.

“No,” Myka answers. “Listen, Helena, they’re all mine.”

“What?"

“The DVDs on the list, the seventeen DVDs. What they've got in common is me. They're all the DVDs I own. The Easter Egg was intended for me.”

Claudia butts in next to Helena on the screen. “You've only got seventeen DVDs?”

Myka ignores her and focuses back on Helena. “Grab Claudia and make sure she brings her laptop.”

“Of course. Why?”

“I want you to meet us.”

“Where?”

“At the creepy house.” She rattles off the address, watching Helena’s expression very closely for any trace of sadness. She doesn’t find a thing, which means it’s only buried that much deeper. “Listen, I know it might be tough—”

Helena waves her off. “It’s alright, darling. I’ve worked through worse than this.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Myka, I think I know what the artifact was,” Claudia interrupts. “I’ve been doing a little research and I don’t think it’s actually an artifact that’s making everyone disappear.”

“But it has to be,” Myka argues. “There’s no other explanation for it. This is totally an artifact.”

“It is,” Claudia agrees, “but not how you’re used to. Listen, I’ve been thinking about how The Doctor is involved in all of this, because I know he’s just a TV character but he’s totally—” She stops talking and gapes absently.

“What? Totally what, Claudia?”

“Oh em gee, you guys, I just had a revelation.” Claudia smiles the way she does when she finds a new piece of technology. “What if we’ve been getting it wrong the whole time?”

“Huh?” Pete interjects.

“Explain, please,” Myka prompts.

“ _Doctor Who_!” Claudia shouts. “Doctor Who, Doc Who; don’t you see?” Everyone stares and shakes their heads. Claudia rolls her eyes. “Not Doc _tor_ Who,” she elaborates, “but Doc Who. As in documentary! All this stuff is real!”

Myka contemplates that for a minute until she remembers that they have bigger things to worry about. “Okay, maybe, but you were saying about the artifact?”

“Right, well, _if_ my theory is correct and The Doctor actually exists, then there’s a good chance that some kind of alien or other weird mystical force is the one causing all the disappearances.”

“But something had to make them start in the first place. I mean, that’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah, but only kind of no. Because people were disappearing way before you started investigating. But you only started investigating—”

“—when I read the message on the wall,” Myka finishes. “You think the artifact has something to do with the message?”

“Sort of. Bear with me for a minute, because I have to put on my Professor Donovan hat.” Myka smiles and catches Helena doing the same. “So, it’s the mid-60s and this New Age movement is really getting some steam, right? People are singing about Aquarius and going crazy for metaphysics, and then this woman named Linda Goodman writes a book called _Sun Signs_ in 1968. It’s a crazy success, hits the best-seller list, and everyone’s going nuts reading about their zodiac or whatever. Now, legend has it that she wrote all of her notes with this giant Sharpie.”

“A giant Sharpie that you might use to write on a wall?” Pete posits.

Claudia snaps her fingers. “Exactamundo.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t use the Sharpie,” Myka points out.

“Okay, well, I haven’t figured this out completely because we’re crunched for time, but astrology isn’t really immediate prediction, right? I mean it’s more, ‘Here’s the month of June; you’ll probably feel constipated for most of it.’ It’s a suggestion more than anything. Like, something has to happen for it to take effect. So I’m thinking The Doctor wrote that message in 1969, and it wasn’t until you read it last night that all the weird stuff started happening.”

Myka considers this for a moment. “I’m gonna start calling you Cleo.”

“What?”

“Miss Cleo Donovan.”

Pete barks a laugh. “Good one, Mykes!” He raises a hand for a high-five. Myka never leaves him hanging.

“Grab your stuff and come meet us, okay? And bring that video.”

“Roger.”

/

The house is creepier at dusk. One side of the house looks perfectly harmless, and the other side has already succumbed to darkness. With Myka’s luck, everything important will happen on that side.

“Oh my god, this is Scooby Doo’s house,” Claudia says when she gets out of the car.

“Yeah, I wish,” Pete huffs. “We could totally use Velma right now.”

“Jinkies, Pete,” Claudia deadpans, “how little you think of me.”

“Oh, no; you’re totally better than Velma. You’re, like, two Velmas. You’re, like, _six_ Velmas.”

“Who’s Velma?” Helena asks.

“Stop; just—stop.” Myka turns to Claudia. “Did you bring a static bag?”

Claudia shakes her head. “I don’t think we need to neutralize the pen. That’s not the thing doing the vanishing, remember? We need to stop whatever’s got The Doctor all messed up.”

“Okay, well did you bring your laptop?” Claudia pats her bag. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

Claudia pulls her laptop out the second Pete shuts the door. She slips the DVD in and starts fast-forwarding. “This part has the clearest sound,” she explains. “The picture quality’s not as good, but I don’t know—”

“It’s okay, Claud. Just play it.”

“Okay.” She presses play. “There he is.”

“That’s really The Doctor?” Pete blurts. “I mean, for real-for real?”

 _“Yup. That's me,”_ The Doctor answers.

“Okay, that was scary,” Myka says.

“No, it sounds like he's replying,” Claudia explains, “but he always says that.”

_“Yes, I do.”_

“And that.”

_“Yup. And this.”_

“He can hear us,” Myka breathes. “Oh, my God, you can really hear us?”

Helena scoffs. “Of course he can't hear us. Look, we’ve got a transcript. See? Everything he says. Yup, that's me. Yes, I do. Yup, and this. Next it's—”

The Doctor recites Helena’s words along with her. _“—are you going to read out the whole thing?”_

“Sorry,” Helena mutters.

Myka takes a leap of faith and directly addresses The Doctor on the screen. “Who are you?”

_“I'm a time-traveler. Or I was. I'm stuck in 1969.”_

A woman sticks her head into the frame. _“We're stuck. All of space and time, he promised me. Now I've got a job in a shop. I've got to support him!”_

_“Martha.”_

_“Sorry,”_ Martha apologizes.

“I've seen this bit before,” Myka interjects.

_“Quite possibly.”_

“1969, that's where you're talking from?”

_“Afraid so.”_

“But you're replying to me. You can't know exactly what I'm going to say, forty years before I say it.”

_“Forty three.”_

Helena fumbles in Claudia’s bag for a notebook and a pen. “Darling, this is fascinating. I need to record your side of the conversation.”

“How?” Myka asks. “How is this possible? Tell me.”

“Not so fast,” Helena chides.

_“People don't understand time. It's not what you think it is.”_

There is very little that Myka Bering does not understand. No better time to learn than when you’re in the middle of a creepy house surrounded by creepy angels. “Then what is it?”

_“Complicated.”_

“Tell me.”

_“Very complicated.”_

Myka rolls her eyes. “I'm clever and I'm listening. And don't patronize me because people have died, and I'm not happy. Tell me,” she repeats.

_“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.”_

“Yeah, I've seen this bit before. You said that sentence got away from you.”

 _“It got away from me, yeah,”_ The Doctor admits.

“Next thing you're going to say is, ‘Well, I can hear you.’”

_“Well, I can hear you.”_

Pete and Claudia point excitedly at the screen.

Myka doesn’t engage them, even though she knows they want her to say something. “This isn't possible,” she says instead.

“No, it's brilliant!” Helena gushes.

 _“Well, not hear you, exactly,”_ The Doctor continues, _“but I know everything you're going to say.”_

“That bit always gives me the shivers,” Pete interjects.

Myka ignores him. “How can you know what I'm going to say?”

_“Look to your left.”_

Myka looks left—and sees Helena, furiously scribbling in the missing pieces.

“What does he mean by look to your left?” Claudia asks. “I've written tons about that on the forums. I think it's a political statement.”

“He means Helena,” Myka explains. “What are you doing?”

“I'm writing in your bits,” Helena replies, never once looking up from her notebook. “That way I've got a complete transcript of the whole conversation.”

“Wait until this hits the net,” Claudia squeals. “This will explode the egg forums.”

_“I've got a copy of the finished transcript. It's on my autocue.”_

“How can you have a copy of the finished transcript? It's still being written.”

_“I told you. I'm a time-traveler. I got it in the future.”_

Myka presses her fingers to her temples and starts pacing. “Okay, just—okay, just let me get my head around this. You're reading aloud from a transcript of a conversation you're still having.”

_“Yeah. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.”_

“Never mind that.” She looks down at Helena. “You can do shorthand?”

“Do what?”

“Short hand,” Myka repeats, pointing at Helena’s writing.

“Oh, is that what you call stenography?” Helena’s curious expression morphs into a smirk. “Darling, there is very little I _can’t_ do.”

_“What matters is, we can communicate. We have got big problems now. They have taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box.”_

Claudia leans close to Myka. “‘The angels have the phone box.’ That's my favorite; I've got it on a t-shirt.”

“What do you mean, angels?” She thinks back to the statues outside the house and the police station. “You mean those statue things?”

_“Creatures from another world.”_

“But they're just statues,” Myka protests.

_“Only when you see them.”_

“What does that mean?”

_“The lonely assassins, they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from, but they're as old as the universe, or very nearly, and they have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved. They are quantum-locked. They don't exist when they're being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice. It's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone. Of course, a stone can't kill you either. But then you turn your head away, then you blink, and oh, yes it can.”_

Pete and Claudia have their eyes fixed on the laptop screen, and Helena is busy writing. But ever since The Doctor started explaining, Myka’s eyes have been moving. She’s been scanning the room, peering out of the windows, examining every shadow for a hint of movement.

She finds one. She knew she would.

They are coming.

The angels are coming.

Myka nudges Claudia as The Doctor finishes up and points to the angel. “Don't take your eyes off that.”

 _“That's why they cover their eyes,”_ The Doctor continues, oblivious to their problem. _“They're not weeping. They can't risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their greatest curse. They can never be seen. The loneliest creatures in the universe. And I'm sorry. I am very, very sorry. It's up to you now.”_

“What am I supposed to do?”

_“The blue box, it's my time machine. There is a world of time energy in there they could feast on forever, but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me.”_

“How?” Myka looks at Claudia for answers. “How?” Claudia just shrugs.

_“And that's it, I'm afraid. There's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got. I don't know what stopped you talking, but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you. But listen, your life could depend on this. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink. Good luck.”_

The video stops suddenly. “No! Don't! You can't!” Myka turns to Claudia. “There’s more video, right? It can’t just end there.”

Claudia winces. “Except it does. It always ends there.” She starts moving the mouse toward the beginning. “I can rewind it if you want.”

“What good would that do?” Myka huffs. She watches Claudia shrug and her eyes widen in realization. “You’re not looking at the statue,” she says.

Claudia mimics her expression. “Neither are you,” she whispers.

They both look up to find the angel towering over them, reaching out with its mouth wide open. Four people yelp and scoot as far away as they can.

“Keep looking at it,” Myka instructs. She is talking to everyone. “Keep looking at it.”

“There's just one, right,” Pete asks, his voice wavering. “There's just this one. We're okay if we just keep staring at this one statue. Everything's going to be fine.”

Myka shakes her head, bouncing around the idea of revealing the bad news. “I think there are three more,” she finally says.

“Three?!” Pete yells.

“Well, they were upstairs before, but I think I heard them moving.”

“Moving where?” Claudia stammers.  “Three of them? Moving where?”

Myka holds out her hands to placate everyone. She speaks in her calmest voice. “I'm going to look around. I'm going to check. Pete, Helena, you come with me—we can keep an eye on all of the ones upstairs.” Myka turns back to Claudia. “You keep looking at this one. Don't blink. Remember what he said. Don't even blink.”

“Who blinks? I'm too scared to blink,” Claudia splutters.

Myka gives Claudia an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder before gesturing to Pete and Helena. “Okay, we're going to the stairs.”

“Myka, perhaps I could stay here instead,” Helena offers.

“No, you’re coming with me.”

“Darling, look at Claudia; she’s—”

“I want you with me, Helena,” Myka repeats. “Claud, you’ve got this, right?”

“Yep, totally,” Claudia falters, her voice breaking. “The Doctor is real and so are his monsters and I have to keep looking at this one or else it’s gonna eat me and probably send me to a time where I have to wear a corset and I do not mix well with corsets. You guys go; I’m good. Hey, if you come back down and I’ve peed my pants, don’t judge me, okay?”

“I know you can do this, Claud,” Myka reassures. She gives Claudia one last look before guiding Helena and Pete out of the room.

“Okay, listen,” she whispers as they congregate near the stairs, “I said there were three but there might be more; I don’t know for sure. The backyard was full of them when William”—Myka frowns at Helena’s wince—“when I was here earlier,” Myka corrects. “We’re gonna go upstairs and see if we can find the time machine—”

“The TARDIS,” Pete supplies helpfully. “Hey, I like sci-fi shows, too.”

“Sure, whatever, the TARDIS. We’re gonna go find it, and if you see one of these in the meantime, you stop and stare at it and let someone else keep going. Got it?” Pete and Helena nod. “Okay. Let’s go find these things.”

The stairs seem more ominous, more threatening this time around; Myka isn’t sure if the railing is actually rattling or if she’s just imagining it. She wants nothing more than to be at home with a nice mug of cocoa and a good book. If she could close her eyes and lose herself in her imagination, she would. But that would permanently separate her from everything she loves, and Myka can’t handle experiencing that again.

(It’s a good thing these angels are so traumatizing, because they don’t leave a bit of space in her brain to dwell on Yellowstone or Sykes.)

“Myka, I’ve got one,” Helena says.

“Okay.” Myka chances a peek in Helena’s direction, finding her scared and tired but wonderfully whole and, thankfully, not time-sucked. “You’re okay, though?”

“I’m fine, darling. Please hurry and locate this bloody box before I turn decidedly un-fine.”

“Right. The TARDIS.” Myka stalls, wanting to say something— _needing_ to say something. “Helena…”

“Please, Myka.” Helena cuts her off, her voice frustrated and harsh. She takes a breath. When she speaks again, her voice is as soft as Myka’s ever heard it. “I know. Myka, I know. Please hurry.”

“Okay,” Myka murmurs.

Pete holds his fist out for her to bump. Myka exhales a shaky laugh in relief at the familiarity. “Just you and me, Mykes. Like any other case.”

“Yeah, just any other case. Except this one has statues that want to kill us.”

“There’s always something that wants to kill us,” Pete mutters as they keep moving.

“This one seems a little more deadly.”

“You know, I—” Pete stops, and Myka has a good idea why. “Well, I was going to say they’re not too bad, but this guy here looks pretty angry.”

“How close did it get?”

“I could touch it if I wanted.”

“Pete, for the love of _god_ —”

“I’m not gonna, Mykes. Come on.”

Myka spares time for a little chuckle as she keeps walking. There isn’t much of the floor left to explore, which is disheartening. She’d been hoping they’d find it right away. Then again, in her line of work, ‘right away’ never happens.

“Okay,” she says, mostly to herself and mostly so she doesn’t start screaming. “Okay, just a little more to search and then we try downstairs. And we have two angels so that’s good.” (She tries not to focus on the fact that she heard three.) “All I have to do is keep walking and keep a close eye out and I’ll be fine.”

It’s the fine that does it, Myka’s sure. Once she says she’s fine, the universe shifts to change it.

Because there’s only one more room to check, but to do so Myka will have to stop looking straight ahead. It’s a terrifying risk. But it’s one that she has to take, because the idea that the TARDIS is in the one room Myka didn’t search because she was too scared is a career-ending idea.

She peeks her head past the doorway, searching the room and finding neither the TARDIS nor an angel.

Which makes sense, because the angel is right behind her, waiting for her to turn around. She screams when she finally does.

“Mykes!” Pete yells. “Myka! Please don’t tell me you disappeared. I mean, I guess you technically _couldn’t_ tell me if you did, but—”

“I’m still here, Pete,” Myka answers in a shaky voice. “Just found the third angel, that’s all.”

“Okay, well that sucks. Well, it’s great that you’re still here. I love that you’re still here.” Myka smiles. “But now what do we do?”

“Well,” Myka muses, “I’m gonna start making my way back to you and Helena. You do the same, but keep your eyes on your angel and try not to run into anything.”

“What happens when I get far enough away that I can’t see my angel anymore?”

“We’ll figure that out when it happens, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’m coming toward you. Pass the message onto Helena and we’ll meet back on the first floor.”

Myka hears Pete move and she gives him a twenty second head start before she follows. She rotates slowly, letting her flailing hands find walls and eventually the stair railing. She has never been more thankful for her memory. The stairs are slow-going, but if her only choices are getting winked out of existence or making her way down a dark staircase with the speed of a turtle and _then_ possibly getting winked out of existence, Myka is going to take the second one.

(Halfway down, her angel blends back into the shadows, just like Pete was worried it would. Myka keeps looking anyway because if she dies today, she is going to die thoroughly.)

“Mykes!”

Myka jumps and accidentally punches Pete. “Jeez, Pete, give a girl a little warning?”

“Sorry, sorry. Did you find the TARDIS?”

“No. Did you find—?”

“Quite soundly, with his elbow first,” Helena adds. Myka heaves a weighty sigh of relief.

“Hey, it is _hard_ to walk backwards,” Pete protests.

“I seemed to manage just fine and without much bodily harm,” Helena argues.

“Mykes, why are you still looking up?”

“I think that’s where my angel is.”

“You think?”

“You know how you wondered what would happen if you got too far away to see them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think that just happened to me, and I’m not in any hurry to find out.”

“We are rather pressed for time, darling.”

“Mykes, look away.”

“What? No.”

“No, just for a second. Look away just for a second, let it find you, and look back.”

“That’s both terrifying and logical.”

“I have my moments.”

“Okay. Here goes.”

Myka turns away—finds Helena’s weary, beautiful face—and spins back to find the angel right behind her, its teeth bared and arms raised.

“Okay, I didn’t even see it happen but that shit is _freaky_ ,” Pete hisses.

“Okay. Reevaluating the plan. Claudia?” Myka yells. “How’s your angel doing?”

“Still all angel of death-y. Literally,” Claudia calls back.

“Do you think you could make it to the front door?”

“Sure, just tell me where to run. I think I’d be good at that right now.”

“Okay, stay put and I’ll let you know.” Myka backs up toward the front door, keeping an eye on her angel the whole time. She jiggles the doorknob and groans.

“What’s up, Mykes?”

“They've locked it. They've locked us in.”

“Why?” Helena asks.

“I've got something they want.”

“What?”

“Dude, the key!” Pete yells. “Aw man, you took the key.”

Myka nods. “Yep. I took it last time I was here. They followed me to get it back. I led them to the blue box, and now they've got that.”

“Well, jeez, give them the key!” Claudia yells.

“I'm going to check the back door. Just—everyone wait here.”

“Mykes, how are you gonna check it? You’ve got an angel right in front of you.”

“Did I ever tell you I was on the track team in high school?”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know—some girls played with Barbies, other girls took fencing and ran…”

“Okay, okay. Just go.”

Myka takes one more fortifying breath, then sprints to the back door. She grabs the handle and spins around, catching her angel mid-leap before it catches her. She jiggles this doorknob just like she did the other one.

“This one’s locked, too!” she yells, and three people groan in response.

“There must be another place to store a great big box!” Helena yells.

Myka runs through the layout of the house in her head. “There’s a basement,” she finally yells back.

“Well, that’s great. How do we get there without dying?” Pete asks.

“Pete, you and Helena are by the stairs, right? Go straight toward the hallway, hang a right into the kitchen, and the basement is the first door on your right. Claud, you’re in the front room, so you’ve gotta take a right to get into the hallway, but same directions after that.”

“You’re freaky sometimes, you know that, Mykes? And if we survive this, I’m giving you the biggest kiss.”

“Not if I beat you to it,” Myka hears Helena mumble.

“Just go, Pete. You ready?”

“Ready,” Pete and Helena chime simultaneously.

“Ready,” Claudia adds a moment later.”

“Okay… _run!_ ”

Myka turns away from her angel and sprints toward the basement, practically falling all over Claudia, Pete, and Helena as they all try to climb down the stairs at once.

They make it eventually, and the TARDIS is right there waiting for them—along with three more angels.

“Shit!” Pete spits.

“No, it’s okay; it’s okay. You and Claudia take those three, and Helena and I will take the ones from upstairs—oh, look, there they are now.”

“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself, darling. Why is it pointing at the light?”

Myka’s face falls. “Oh my god, it’s turning out the lights.”

“It’s turning out the lights?!” Claudia squeaks.

“Pete, Claud, which of you is closest to me?”

“Um, I am,” Pete responds.

Myka rolls her eyes. “Oh, great.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it. Listen, Pete, back up until you run into me. Then reach into my front left pocket and grab the key. Claud, you know where the lock is on this thing, right?”

“I could fly it if I had to,” Claudia answers.

“Okay, great. Pete, get moving.”

“Already here, sweet cheeks,” Pete drawls with the snap of a crime boss from the 40s.

Myka jumps as Pete starts poking around her legs. “Pete, I don’t need you to cop a feel. Just grab the key.”

“Well, that’s kind of tough when the key’s in your crotch!”

“Pete…”

“Okay, okay.  I got it.” He shuffles back towards Claudia. Myka hears him stumble at least twice.

“Myka, we’ve got a problem,” Claudia says as the lights start flickering in earnest.

“We’ve got more than one problem, Claud. What is it?”

“The key won’t turn.”

“What?”

“The key won’t turn.”

“I heard you, but—what?”

“ _The key won’t turn!_ ”

“I know, Claudia—crap!” The lights flicker long enough for Myka to notice the angels moving closer, and if the snarls on their faces are anything to go by, they aren’t happy. “Claudia, keep trying!”

“Well, I don’t want to break it!”

“Let Pete try!”

“I just said I don’t want to break it!”

“Well, you’ve gotta do something!”

_“This is security protocol seven one two. This time capsule has detected the presence of an authorized control disc, valid one journey.”_

“Is that The Doctor?!” Myka yells. “Doctor! Doctooooor!”

“Jeez, quit the screaming, Mykes. It’s just a hologram.”

“Oh, excuse me if I yell at a time like this. The lights keep turning off and these angels still really want to kill us.”

_“Please insert the disc and prepare for departure.”_

“Insert the disc? What disc?”

“Dude, there’s a DVD slot over there,” Pete says.

“What? Where? Oh my god—wait!” Myka hears Claudia ruffle around in her bag. “Duuuude, this thing is glowing!”

“What? What is?” Myka asks.

“Oh man, Claudia’s video is radioactive!”

“The video? Well, put it in!” Myka screams.

“Claudia, that isn’t your only copy, is it?” Myka spares enough time to glare at Helena. “It’s a fascinating piece of technology, darling,” is all she says to defend herself.

“Come on,” Claudia scoffs. “Who am I, Pete?”

“Hey!”

“Just put it in already!”

“Okay!”

There’s silence for a moment as Claudia puts it in and Myka tries to keep staring at the angels, ignoring the way her eyes are watering from the flickering lights and having not blinked for so long.

“Did it work?”

Just then, a tinny whoosh, like if a robot with asthma tried to breathe, erupts from the TARDIS.

“What's happening?” Myka yells.

“Oh, my God, it's leaving us behind,” Claudia realizes.  “Doctor, no! You can't!”

“Are you _serious_?” Myka screams. “Don’t take your eyes off the angels!”

No one hears her because they’re all too busy yelling for The Doctor.

Meanwhile, the lights won’t stay on, the angels are advancing, Myka is about to die, and all she can do is watch as it happens.

She just hopes she wakes up in the same year as Helena. Time has made big enough fools of them already. Myka takes a steadying breath, reaches forward to find Helena’s hand, and closes her eyes.

Nothing happens.

Technically speaking, something does happen. Something always happens. But Myka knows nothing happened because she can still hear Claudia and Pete yelling.

“Are you still looking at your angels?” she ventures.

“Duh,” Pete and Claudia answer simultaneously.

“I don’t think we need to anymore,” Helena says. “Look, he tricked them. The Doctor tricked them.”

“They’re looking at each other,” Claudia murmurs. “They’re never gonna move again.”

“Score one for the Warehouse gang!” Pete yells triumphantly. Myka hears him exchange a high-five with Claudia.

A cool hand slides down Myka’s arm, linking its fingers with hers. “You can open your eyes now, darling.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I were lying, I wouldn’t be asking you this question now, would I?”

“I guess not,” Myka grins. She opens her eyes to find Helena smiling at her.

“All better?” Helena asks, swiping her thumb across the back of Myka’s hand.

Myka smiles wider.

“Perfect.”

/

Perhaps it’s ironic that, in the following six months after the angel attack, Myka is the one who can’t let go of it. Pete, Claudia, and Helena have all put it squarely behind them, tagging it as another adventure with another sort-of-deadly memento. But Myka knows better. The mystery of The Doctor is a puzzle with one piece still missing—and it’s one of those sky pieces, it goes in the middle, and someone has hidden it fifty miles away. Myka won’t rest until she’s found it and locked it into place.

Helena brings it up one afternoon while they’re sitting in the front room of the bed and breakfast, reading in the sunlight.

“Myka, can't you let it go?”

“Of course I can't let it go,” Myka mutters, flipping a page.

“This is over, darling.”

Myka slams her book shut. “How did the Doctor know where to write the words on the wall? How could he get a copy of the transcript? Where did he get all that information from?”

Helena sighs. “I have spent enough time on this planet to realize that there are some things we never find out, and that's alright.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Does it ever cross your mind that this might be getting in the way of other things?”

Myka brushes a hand through her hair and sighs. “We work together, Helena. I can’t focus on anything else right now.”

“Yes, you can,” Helena protests. “You’re simply focusing on the wrong things.” She waits for Myka to say something. Myka remains silent. “Please focus on me,” Helena murmurs.

“Helena…”

“Right,” Helena says, her voice harsh. “I believe Leena said we were out of milk. I’ll return shortly.”

Myka watches Helena leave, frowning and berating herself in her head. It shouldn’t be this hard. Helena is finally here for good, the Regents haven’t found a new prison to throw her in, and she is saying—explicitly and sometimes multiple times a day—that Myka no longer has a reason to run. The problem, of course, is that Myka is so used to running that the concept of standing still seems horrifying.

She would have stayed on that couch all day, wallowing in her self-induced frustration, if a very familiar man and his companion hadn’t gotten out of a taxi at that exact moment. Myka’s heart pounds in her chest as she runs out the door.

“Doctor!” she yells. “Doctor! Doctor!”

He and Martha turn around. “Hello. Sorry, bit of a rush. There's a sort of thing happening. Fairly important we stop it.”

“Oh my god,” she murmurs, “it's you. It really is you. Oh, you don't remember me, do you?”

Martha turns around, the quiver on her back jostling as she taps her foot impatiently. “Doctor, we don’t have time for this. The migration's started.”

The Doctor hesitates, turning his attention toward Martha and then back to Myka. He eventually settles on Myka. “Look, sorry, I've got a bit of a complex life. Things don't always happen to me in quite the right order. Gets a bit confusing at times, especially at weddings. I'm rubbish at weddings, especially my own.”

Myka furrows her brows in confusion until it hits her. “Oh, my God, of course. You're a time-traveler. It hasn't happened to you yet. None of it. It's still in your future.”

“What hasn't happened?”

“Doctor, please,” Martha interrupts again. “Twenty minutes to red hatching.”

“It was me,” Myka mutters. “Oh, for God's sake, it was me all along. You got it all from me.”

“Got what?” The Doctor asks, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Myka runs as fast as she can back into the inn, grabs the packet with the transcript and other relevant documents, and sprints back outside. She holds them out to The Doctor. “Okay, listen,” she huffs. “One day you're going to get stuck in 1969. Make sure you've got this with you. You're going to need it.”

“Doctor!” Martha yells.

The Doctor winces before grabbing the packet from Myka. “Yeah, listen, listen—got to dash, things happening. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard.”

Myka smiles. “Okay, no worries. On you go. See you around some day.”

“What was your name?”

“Myka Bering.”

The Doctor finally smiles back. “Good to meet you, Myka Bering.”

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

Myka feels Helena sidle up next to her. “Was that who I think it was?”

“Yep,” Myka nods. She reaches down to grab Helena’s hand, and finds both of them empty. “I see you didn’t get the milk.”

“Well, of course not; I thought I heard The Doctor and I came back to make sure I wasn’t going completely insane.”

“Not this time,” Myka teases. “I thought you’d remember what that feels like.”

Helena pushes against her side. “Aren’t you cheeky today?” Myka just laughs. “Does this mean you’ve got all your answers?”

Myka turns her head, watches as Helena’s hair flutters on the wind. “And then some,” she says, smiling as wide as she can muster. “Come on.” She squeezes Helena’s hand and pulls her forward.

“Let’s go for a walk.”


End file.
